sentries surrounded the Mudir of Dongola's tent. Within three days he
was a prisoner in his palace at Dongola, guarded by half a battalion of
British soldiers. The conspiracy was broken.
"How widespread it was, only half a dozen white men knew at the
time. . . . To it the treachery of the Egyptian garrison at Khartoum
and the death of Gordon was due, and the preservation of the Desert
Column (the relief force), can be placed to its discovery."
The next few years in Kitchener's life, which we can but summarize,
show him wielding a masterful hand in the pacification of Egypt. After
Gordon's death, the command was reorganized, and Kitchener became a
Lieutenant Colonel of Cavalry. His duties took him to the extreme
outposts.
Halfway down the Red Sea, over against Mecca, is Suakim, the southern
outpost of Egypt. Suakim has the distinction of being one of the
hottest stations on earth, and one of the most desolate, comparable to
Central Arizona in the hot season. Here Kitchener served as Governor
from 1886 to 1888, with distinction. The following year found him
fighting on the frontier of the Soudan, the wild, vast back-country to
the south and west.
From 1889 to 1892 he served as Adjutant-General of the Egyptian Army,
nominally as an officer of the Sultan's viceroy, the Khedive; but in
reality the visible presence of England's protecting power. He
received several high decorations, which would show that he won the
esteem and confidence of his Egyptian patrons. Finally in 1893 the
Khedive made him Sirdar, or Commander-in-chief.
South of the Egyptian frontier, on the Upper Nile among the cataracts,
the three cities, Dongola, Berber, and Khartoum form a triangle of
trading centers. Kitchener saw that these were the strategic points in
the control of Upper Egypt, and in 1896 led an expedition thither.
Ever since the death of Gordon, the country had been unsettled. It
remained to Kitchener to wield the avenging sword. He laid a light
railroad southward along the Nile, and marched swiftly, taking his
supplies with him. At Omdurman he finally met the enemy and inflicted
a crushing defeat. At Khartoum, where Gordon had been slain, he set up
a stable government.
He came back to civilization a Major General in the British army, a
peer of England--and "Kitchener of Khartoum." This popular title was
speedily shortened to "K of K," and was as well known wherever English
Tommies assembled as "Bobs," the affectionate nickname of Lord Roberts.
But Kitchener never won the deep affection of the rank and file, that
Roberts inspired. He was taciturn, aloof, and a stern disciplinarian.
His name evoked fear and respect, but never love. And yet, his men
would follow him through fire and water, for they had unbounded
confidence in his ability. It was his name that was placarded through
London, when the recruiting began for the Great War--and not the King's.
"Will you serve with Kitchener?" the posters said. And they responded,
three million strong--"Kitchener's Mob," which was to become so soon a
skilled army under his guidance.
They tell of him that when he took the post of Secretary of War, on his
first visit of inspection to the office he looked around and said, "Is
there a bed here?" When answered in the negative, he gave the brief
order, "Have one brought in."
Thereafter for several weeks he literally lived in his office night and
day. He had at last found a job that measured up to his fullest
requirements for hard work, and he revelled in it. Incidentally, he
"delivered the goods"--but nobody marvelled at that; it was nothing
more than was expected of him!
Says an anonymous writer in _The Living Age_: "England never fully
understood Lord Kitchener, and perhaps he never fully understood his
countrymen. They weaved innumerable myths around this shy and solitary
man, who revealed himself to few. To them his figure loomed gigantic
and mysterious through the sandstorms of African deserts and the mists
of the Himalayas. In their hour of trial he came among them for a
space, and then vanished forever in the wild Northern seas. He was a
good man to fight for or to fight against, and he found a worthy end."
IMPORTANT DATES IN KITCHENER'S LIFE
1850. June 24. Herbert Horatio Kitchener born.
1865. Sent to Switzerland to school.
1868. Entered Royal Military Academy, at Woolwich.
1870. Volunteered in French army against Prussia.
1874. Sent as second-lieutenant to Palestine, with exploration party.
1878. Surveyed Island of Cyprus, for British Government.
1885. Lieutenant-colonel of cavalry in Egypt.
1893. Sirdar, or commander-in-chief, of Egyptian army.
1898. Created a baron.
1900. Chief of staff to Roberts in South Africa.
1902. Made general, and commander-in-chief in India.
1911. Consul-general in Egypt.
1914. Secretary of War. Field marshal.
1916. June 5. Lost his life at sea.
HAIG
THE MAN WHO LED "THE CONTEMPTIBLES"
"There goes young Haig. He says he intends to be a soldier."
The speaker was a young student at Oxford University, as he jerked his
thumb in the direction of a slight but well-set-up fellow, a classmate,
who went cantering past.
The chance remark, made more than once during the college days of Field
Marshal Haig, struck the keynote of his career. From early boyhood
Douglas Haig was going to be a soldier; and he stuck to his guns in a
quiet, systematic way until he won out.
The story of Haig's life until the time of the Great War, was the
opposite of spectacular, and even in it, his personal prowess was kept
studiously in the background. With him it has always been: "My men did
thus and so." Yet in his quiet way he has always made his presence
felt with telling effect. He has been the man behind the man behind
the gun.
By birth Haig was a "Fifer," which sounds military without being so.
He was a native of Cameronbridge, County of Fife, and came of the
strictest Presbyterian Scotch. If he had lived a few centuries back he
would have been a Covenanter--the kind that carried a Bible in one hand
and a gun in the other. He was born, June 19, 1861, the youngest son
of John Haig, a local Justice of the Peace. His mother was a Veitch of
Midlothian.
The family, while not wealthy, was comfortably situated. The Haig
children grew up as countrywise rather than townbred, having many a
romp over the rolling country leading to the Highlands. But more than
once on such a jaunt would come the inquiry: "Where's Douglas?" (We
doubt whether they ever shortened it to "Doug," as they would have done
in America.) And back would come the answer: "Oh, he stayed by the
house, the morn. He got a new book frae the library, ye ken."
Douglas was, indeed, bookish and was inclined to favor the inglenook
rather than the heather. As he grew older he discovered a strong
liking for books on theology. It was the old Presbyterian streak
cropping out.
The last thing one would expect from such a boy, was to become a
soldier. A divinity student, yes,--perhaps a college professor--but a
soldier, never! Yet it was to soldiering that this quiet boy turned.
The one thing which linked him up with the field was horsemanship. He
was always a devotee of riding, and soon learned to ride well, with a
natural ease and grace.
He received a general education at Clifton, then entered Brasenose
College, Oxford, at the age of twenty. He was never a
"hail-fellow-well-met" sort of person. Reserve was his hallmark. But
the longer he stayed in college, the more of an outdoorsman he became.
Every afternoon would find him mounted on his big gray horse for a
gallop across the moors, or perhaps an exciting canter behind the
hounds on the scent of a fox. It was then that his habitual reserve
would melt away, and he would wave his hat and cheer like a high-school
boy.
The record of his classes is in no sense remarkable. He turned in neat
and precise papers, without making shining marks in any particular
study. Literature and science were his best subjects.
"Well, son, how goes it now?" his father would ask. "Ready to make a
lawyer out of yourself?"
Douglas would shake his head. He could never share his father's
enthusiasm for the law. "I guess not, father," he would reply quietly.
"Somehow, I am not built that way. I want a try at soldier life."
So his father let him follow his bent, and procured for him a position
in the Seventh Regiment of Hussars. His career as a soldier was
threatened at the outset by the refusal of the medical board to admit
him to the Staff College on the ground that he was color-blind; but
this decision was over-ruled by the Duke of Cambridge, then
commander-in-chief, who nominated him personally. This was in 1885.
England was then as nearly at peace as she ever became, and it seemed
that young Haig was destined to become a feather-bed soldier.
But it was not for long. They presently began to stir up trouble down
in Egypt, and England found, as on many previous occasions, that she
didn't have half enough regulars for the job in hand. The revolt of
the Mahdi had occurred, Khartoum had fallen, and the brave Gordon had
lost his life.
A relief expedition into the Soudan was organized under the command of
a tall, stern soldier named Kitchener, who began his first preparations
to march into the interior about the time that Haig was putting on his
first Hussar uniform.
The campaign in Egypt dragged, despite the zeal of the leader. In
disgust, Kitchener returned to England to demand more men. The request
was at last granted, and by December, 1888, he was in command of a
force of over 4,000 troops, of which number 750 were British regulars!
Those were indeed the days of the "Little Contemptibles," but right
manfully they measured up to their tasks. And in the British force was
the Seventh Hussars, including Haig. He was about to achieve his
life's ambition, at last--to see real service as a British soldier.
Haig was then a well-knit young man of twenty-seven. His outdoor
exercise had browned and hardened him, until he looked thoroughly fit
for the exacting job ahead. He was slightly under medium size, but
tough and wiry to the last degree. His shoulders were broad, his head
well set, and the bulging calves of his legs showed the born
cavalryman. He had fair, almost sandy hair, a close-cropped mustache,
and steel-blue eyes which met honestly and unflinchingly the gaze of
any with whom he talked. He looked then, as in later years, "every
inch a soldier," and speedily won the confidence of his superiors.
The silent Kitchener, who was a keen judge of men, soon took a fancy to
this quiet young lieutenant. A friendship sprang up between them, that
was destined to bear far-reaching fruit. The two men were both
reserved in demeanor, but in a different sort of way. Kitchener was
taciturn and often inclined to growl. Haig was a man of few words and
no intimates, but greeted all with a pleasant smile. To this young
Scotsman Kitchener unbent more than was his wont, and was actually seen
shaking hands with him, at parting, on a later occasion; which all goes
to show that even commanding officers can be human.
On the march into the Soudan, Kitchener was in command of the Egyptian
Cavalry also. The Khedive was exceedingly anxious that the rebellion
be crushed speedily, and had made Kitchener the "sirdar." One of the
first actions in this campaign was the Battle of Gemaizeh. Three
brigades were sent to storm the forts held by the dervishes, and a
heavy and sustained fire from three sides soon drove the enemy out in
disorder. Some 500 dervishes were slain, and the remainder numbering
several thousand fled across the desert toward Handub--closely pursued
by the British Hussars and the Egyptian cavalry.
This was only the first of many such actions. Further and further
south the rebels were driven. Kitchener pushed a light railroad across
the desert as he advanced, so that he would not suffer from the same
mistake which had ended Gordon--getting cut off from his base of
supplies.
And in the thick of it was Haig--learning the actual trade of war in
these frequent brushes on the desert--riding hard by day, sleeping the
sleep of exhaustion at night. On more than one occasion the Chief sent
him on a special quest with important messages, and always Haig got
through. He seemed to bear a charmed life. "Lucky Haig," the men
began to call him, and the title stuck.
Entering the desert as a Lieutenant, he was promoted to Captain, then
brevetted a Major. He was mentioned in the despatches for bravery, and
won a medal from the Khedive.
All this was not done in a few short months. The Egyptian campaign
stretched into years, and at times must have seemed fearfully
monotonous to these soldiers so far removed from home comforts. Here
is the way one writer describes the Soudan:
"The scenery, it must be owned, was monotonous, and yet not without
haunting beauty. Mile on mile, hour on hour, we glided through sheer
desert. Yellow sand to right and left--now stretching away endlessly,
now a valley between small broken hills. Sometimes the hills sloped
away from us, then they closed in again. Now they were diaphanous blue
on the horizon, now soft purple as we ran under their flanks. But
always they were steeped through and through with sun--hazy, immobile,
silent."
One of the culminating battles of the campaign was that of Atbara,
where the backbone of the dervish rebellion was broken. It is
estimated that here 8,000 dervishes were killed, 2,000 wounded, and
2,000 made prisoners. The battle began with a bombardment by the field
guns. Then came the British cavalry at a gallop--the Camerons in
front, and columns of Warwicks, Seaforths, and Lincolns behind.
Bugles, bagpipes, and the instruments of the native regiments made
strange music as the army pressed forward intent on reaching the river
bank.
The native stockades were reinforced with thorn bushes, but these were
torn away by the men, with their bare hands, in their eagerness to
advance. Haig's regiment was one of the first to penetrate, but once
past the stockade they encountered many of the defenders who put up a
fierce fight. Several British officers lost their lives, and it was
due to Haig's agility and presence of mind that he was not at the least
severely wounded. Two dervishes attacked him at once from opposite
sides. One aimed a slashing blow at his head with a scimitar. Haig
quickly ducked and the scimitar went crashing against the weapon of the
other dervish. Haig's luck again!
Others were not so fortunate. "Never mind me, lads, go on," said Major
Urquhart with his dying breath. "Go on, my company, and give it to
them," gasped Captain Findlay as he fell. At the head of the attacking
party strode Piper Stewart, playing "The March of the Cameron Men,"
until five bullets laid him low. Truly the spirit of the fiery old
Covenanters was there!
The final battle of the Soudanese campaign, Khartoum, put the finishing
touches to the rebellion, and gave to Kitchener the title "K. of
K."--Kitchener of Khartoum. This battle was noteworthy in employing
the cavalry in an open charge across the plains against the dervish
infantry. It was just such a charge as a skilled horseman such as Haig
would keenly enjoy, despite the danger. Winston Churchill, the British
Minister, thus describes it:
"The heads of the squadrons wheeled slowly to the left, and the
Lancers, breaking into a trot, began to cross the dervish front in
column of troops. Thereupon and with one accord the blue-clad men
dropped on their knees, and there burst out a loud, crackling fire of
musketry. It was hardly possible to miss such a target at such a
range. Horses and men fell at once. The only course was plain and
welcome to all. The Colonel, nearer than his regiment, already saw
what lay behind the skirmishers. He ordered 'Right wheel into line' to
be sounded. The trumpet jerked out a shrill note, heard faintly above
the trampling of the horses and the noise of the rifles. On the
instant the troops swung round and locked up into a long, galloping
line.
"Two hundred and fifty yards away, the dark blue men were firing madly
in a thin film of light-blue smoke. Their bullets struck the hard
gravel into the air, and the troopers, to shield their faces from the
stinging dust, bowed their helmets forward, like the Cuirassiers at
Waterloo. The pace was fast and the distance short. Yet before it was
half covered the whole aspect of the affair changed. A deep crease in
the ground--a dry watercourse, a _khor_--appeared where all had seemed
smooth, level plain; and from it there sprang, with the suddenness of a
pantomime effect and a high-pitched yell, a dense white mass of men
nearly as long as our front and about twelve deep. A score of horsemen
and a dozen bright flags rose as if by magic from the earth. The
Lancers acknowledged the apparition only by an increase of pace."
In such a mêlée as then followed, that trooper was lucky indeed who
escaped without a scratch.
As a result of his bravery at Atbara and Khartoum, Haig's name was
mentioned in the official despatches. He returned to England wearing
the Khedive's medal and the honorary title of Major.
It is probable, however, that little more would have been heard of him,
had not the South African War broken out, soon after. It is the lot of
military men to vegetate in days of peace. They live upon action.
Haig was no exception to this rule. He welcomed new fields. He went
to South Africa as aide and right-hand man to Sir John French--the
general whom he was to succeed in later years on the battlefields of
France.
In this war, Haig is not credited with many personal exploits. His was
essentially a thinking part. Yet he served as chief of staff in a
series of minor but important operations about Colesburg, which
prepared the way for Roberts's advance. As usual Haig pinned his faith
upon the cavalry. All his life he had made a close study of this arm
of the service, and was of opinion that it was not utilized in modern
warfare nearly so much as it should be. He was a warm admirer of the
American officer, J. E. B. Stuart, the Confederate General whose
dashing tactics turned the scale in so many encounters.
Now he tried the same strategy in the operations around Colesburg--and
paved the way for later victory.
Haig somewhat resembled another Southern leader, Stonewall Jackson, in
his piety. It was not ostentatious, but simply part and parcel of the
man, due to his Presbyterian training. Haig did not swear or gamble or
dance all night. He was more apt to be found in his tent, when off
duty, either reading or writing.
They tell of him that, one day at the officers' mess, after a
particularly lively brush with the Boers, the quartermaster asked him
if he had lost anything.
"Yes," replied Haig solemnly, "my Bible!"
Not once did his countenance relax its gravity, as he met the grinning
faces across the table.
But despite their chaffing, there was not a man there who did not
respect the courage of his convictions, no less than the bravery of the
man himself. Almost daily he risked his life in these cavalry
operations--until the "Haig luck" became a watchword.
The end of the South African War found Haig promoted to acting Adjutant
General of the Cavalry, and soon after his return home he was made
Lieutenant Colonel, in command of the Seventeenth Lancers. This was in
1901.
About this time he paid a visit to Germany, then at peace and
professing a warm affection for England. One result of this visit was
a letter which showed him possessed with wonderful powers of analysis
and foresight. He practically predicted the war that was to come. He
summed up his observations in a long letter to a friend which, in the
light of events of the War, is little short of uncanny. It gave the
German plan with a mastery of detail, shrewd prophecy, and earnest
warning. The future commander-in-chief of the British armies in France
was convinced of the certainty of the conflict and besought the
authorities to make better preparation--but his warnings fell upon deaf
ears.
It required thirteen years to demonstrate the truth of Haig's
predictions, and then the blow fell. The Kaiser viewed his strong
hosts and boasted that he would soon wipe out England's "contemptible
little army." He very nearly did so, and would certainly have
succeeded, had it not been for the fighting spirit of such men as Haig.
During the intervening years since the South African campaign he had
risen by fairly rapid stages to Inspector-General of the Cavalry in
India--a situation which he handled with great skill for three
years--then Major General, and Lieutenant General.
At the outbreak of the World War, he was hurriedly sent to France,
under the command of Sir John French, his old leader in Africa. French
was generosity itself in his praise of Haig in these early days of
disaster.
In the retreat from Mons it was "the skilful manner in which Sir
Douglas Haig extricated his corps from an exceptionally difficult
position in the darkness of the night," that won his laudation. At the
Aisne, on September 14, 1914, "the action of the First Corps on this
day, under the direction and command of Sir Douglas Haig, was of so
skilful, bold, and decisive a character, that he gained positions which
alone have enabled me to maintain my position for more than three weeks
of very severe fighting on the north bank of the river."
In the first battle of Ypres, the chief honors of victory were again
awarded to him:
"Throughout this trying period, Sir Douglas Haig, aided by his
divisional commanders and his brigade commanders, held the line with
marvelous tenacity and undaunted courage."
Again and again, the generous French pays tribute to his friend, which
while deserved reflects no less honor upon the speaker. He was big
enough to share honor.
It is not strange, therefore, when French was superseded, for strategic
reasons, that Haig should have been given the chief command. The
appointment, however, left most of the world frankly amazed. Haig had
come forward so quietly that few save those in official circles knew
anything about him. It was nevertheless but a matter of weeks,
possibly days, before a quiet confidence born of the man himself was
manifest everywhere.
One war correspondent who visited headquarters in the midst of the
War's turmoil, thus describes his visit:
"The environment of the Commander-in-chief is strongly suggestive of
his conduct of the war. Before war became a thing of precise science,
the headquarters of an army head seethed with all the picturesque
details so common to pictures of martial life. Couriers mounted on
foam-flecked horses dashed to and fro. The air was vibrant with
action; the fate of battle showed on the face of the humblest orderly.
But today 'G. H. Q.'--as headquarters are familiarly known--are totally
different. Although army units have risen from thousands to millions
of men, and fields of operations stretch from sea to sea, and more
ammunition is expended in a single engagement than was employed in
entire wars of other days, absolute serenity prevails. It is only when
your imagination conjures up the picture of flame and fury that lies
beyond the horizon line that you get a thrill.
"An occasional motorcar driven by a soldier-chauffeur chugs up the
gravel road to the chateau and from it emerge earnest-faced officers
whose visits are usually brief. Neither time nor words are wasted when
myriad lives hang in the balance and an empire is at stake. Inside and
out there is an atmosphere of quiet confidence, born of unobtrusive
efficiency."
The same writer on meeting Haig says: "I found myself in a presence
that, even without the slightest clue to its profession, would have
unconsciously impressed itself as military. Dignity, distinction, and
a gracious reserve mingle in his bearing. I have rarely seen a
masculine face so handsome and yet so strong. His hair and mustache
are fair, and his clear, almost steely-blue eyes search you, but not
unkindly. His chest is broad and deep, yet scarcely broad enough for
the rows of service and order ribbons that plant a mass of color
against the background of khaki. . . .